My Big Fat British Pregnancy (by Leopold Fitz)
by notapepper
Summary: A baby? A tiny, squishy, responsibility-inducing, no-returns-policy, die-if-you-leave-them-alone baby? He looked at Jemma, their eyes widening simultaneously in terror. "Oh, shit." (Jemma's pregnancy in snapshots, Fitz's POV. FitzSimmons established relationship. Few instances of strong language, some frank discussion of the physical changes brought on by pregnancy.)


**A/N: Somewhat belated, but Happy Father's Day, everyone!**

* * *

"Fitz?"

"Ah! Jemma. Good, you're here." Fitz puffed himself up and held out a small spy-bot. "I've sorted the issue with the infrared readings - not that it was easy, mind you - and you'll be pleased to-"

"Fitz?" His name tumbled out of her mouth, oddly tense.

"What? What is it?" He put down the gadget and stepped over to her from behind the lab table, just as Jemma drew her hand from behind her back and showed him the slim plastic test. _Pregnant?! We've only been tryin' for a month!_ "Really? Jem?"

She nodded, the beginnings of a beaming smile threatening to break her face.

Fitz felt something quite like a giggle start to bubble in his gut (not that it _was_ a giggle, thank you very much, if anything, it was a manly guffaw). _A baby?_ A tiny, squishy, responsibility-inducing, no-returns-policy, die-if-you-leave-them-alone baby?

He looked at his wife, their eyes widening simultaneously in terror. "Oh, shit."

-o-

"I don't know why everyone always complains about being pregnant," Jemma breezed. "So far, it's been the same as before. Perhaps a bit less energy than usual, but not bad at all."

So perhaps those reality-show teens who "didn't know" they were pregnant weren't so oblivious after all. Fitz nodded around a mouthful of mozzarella sticks. "Mmm hmm."

"Oh, Fitz. Deep-fried cheese? Just because we've been busier than usual is no excuse to go for convenience foods."

"I made these for _you_. You need the protein." It wasn't his fault if his thoughtful generosity was being misinterpreted as closet gluttony.

Jemma rolled her eyes at him. "I'm eating yogurt."

Fitz shrugged. If she wouldn't eat for two, he had no trouble picking up the slack.

-o-

"Never have I ever… joined the mile high club."

Furtive looks passed between them, handed off guiltily like a collection plate. After a few seconds, Fitz, Trip, Lance, May, Skye, Bobbi, and Jemma each took a drink. Well, he supposed, they did spend quite a lot of their lives in aeroplanes.

"Wonder what the _Director_ would say about that," muttered Skye gleefully. "AC might even take a shot, am I right May?"

It only took one eyebrow from May to shut that particular line of questioning down.

Fitz got up and walked around the room, refilling everyone's glasses.

Hunter grimaced at the clear liquid. "I can't keep drinking this turpentine." He zeroed in on Jemma. "Simmons, you look proper sober." He moved closer, and Fitz's grip tightened on Jemma's knee. A second later, Lance was staring her down, breath reeking of cheap vodka, his beady squint throwing handcuffs on her already. "How the hell are you still sittin' up?"

 _Fuck._ Not for the first time, Fitz wished Jemma wasn't making him wait to tell people. Though he supposed there was _some_ merit in her reasoning. Fitz wasn't superstitious (not when he had science!) but he wasn't willing to tempt fate by announcing their tiny triple-PhD-in-the-making too soon.

"Maybe I just haven't had as many shots as certain _perverts_ in the room who drink after every question," Jemma fired back.

Fitz scowled, summoning a hot coil of offense on her behalf like putting on his shoes, and moved himself quietly between Jemma's shot glass and the bleary-eyed gaze of one Lance Hunter, superspy extraordinaire.

"She's right." May grabbed Hunter by the back of the collar. "Back to your seat." May's stony face betrayed no sign of intoxication, despite her, ahem, _worldly_ experiences earning her at least as many shots as Hunter, and the look she threw Fitz was far too knowing.

A Koenig who'd invited himself to their game night - _Sam?_ \- pulled out his cell and quietly placed a call. "Hey, Sam. Hypothetical question: when you join the 'mile high club' you can't just- you need someone else there, right?"

-o-

Coulson brought a cooler into the lab. A grimy, horrible-smelling cooler, that he set on their counter with a _thunk_ and a heavy look. "According to local authorities, these were caught by a pair of fishermen who kept a cat on board their boat. They saw the cat sniffing around the haul; it was dead an hour later. But here's the weird thing: its fur was completely gone."

"You think it's a resurgence of the Kree crystals?" Jemma's face had gone paper-white.

"My gut? No. The signs don't fit what we've seen before, and the fishermen themselves don't seem to have been affected by touching it." He sighed. "Either way, we can't afford to take chances. I need you to perform a necropsy on the cat and gather as much information as you can about the fish themselves. Report back to me as soon as you've got something."

As the director walked back through the glass doors, Fitz and Jemma were left staring warily at the cooler.

"Well." She unclasped her hands and set them resolutely at her sides. "We'll just take precautions! You heard Coulson, the fishermen were fine!"

" _So far_. Jemma. You can't possibly be thinking of-"

"What, Fitz? Doing my _job_? We'll wear biohazard suits, we'll contain the samples, we'll be meticulous like we always are! Besides, without me, who's going to perform the necropsy?"

Fitz swallowed the bile in his throat. "Talk me through the procedure. I'll do it."

Jemma tipped her head to the side and pursed her lips. "It's several dead animals, including a _cat_. Or have you forgotten-"

" _No_ , I haven't forgotten! But I'm not letting you endanger our progeny simply because you're better at cutting up dead things!"

"Letting me?" Her eyes had gone from warm caramel to cold copper. " _Endanger?_ "

He pressed two fingers to his forehead. "That's not what-"

"Good, then it's settled!"

A few minutes later, with both of them covered in protective gear, Fitz tentatively pried open the top of the cooler. Jemma stepped forward and dropped a gloved hand into the container to retrieve the first corpse. "See? Nothing to worry abou- oh, God." She pressed the back of her arm to the mask covering her nose. "It's the smell," she winced. She whirled and ran out of the room. "Sorry, Fitz!"

Fitz closed his eyes. Fourteen dead fish and one disgusting hairless feline corpse. He exhaled slowly, dabbed a bit more Vapo-Rub under his nose, and made sure he had a vomit bucket on standby.

 _Lord have mercy, where to start._ Very carefully, he pulled the first corpse out, trying not to think about how bloated it was or the way its eyes bugged out in a state of perpetual surprise. _Pretty sure I'm meant to cut something._ It was, quite understandably if you asked him, a bit hard to concentrate on anything at the moment. _Coulson did just walk in here with a cooler full of my fucking boggart._

The sound of Jemma knocking on the glass wall brought him back. "Fitz! Make the incision!"

 _Yep._ He could do this. Really, slicing up fish wasn't so bad. _Just like workin' in a restaurant._ He lowered the scalpel, screwed his face up and looked away in disgust when he felt the knife go in.

Jemma's warning came a half-second too late. "Make sure you aim it awa-"

A squirt of rancid fish-gut ooze _splurshed_ out of the distended flesh, spraying a long stripe across his sleeve and shoulder. Outside the lab, Jemma gave him a pained smile. "Now you know for the next one?"

He dropped his chin and breathed through his mouth until the heaving urge to set himself on fire had passed.

 _Impregnate your wife, they said. It'll be fun, they said._

-o-

"Dismissed." Director Coulson began stacking his holo-files as the meeting started to disperse.

"Actually, if you could wait a moment!" Simmons waved her arms ineffectively in front of her. "Since we're all here together… we have an announcement to make." She sent a beam of pure adoration his way and grasped his elbow. "Fitz and I…"

"I'm pregnant!" Fitz blurted. "Er, we're- she's pregnant!" He pointed. "Simmons." He pointed to himself, earning an eyeroll from Jemma. "I'm the father."

-o-

3 minutes, 49 seconds. _Damn it!_

Fitz shook out his bad hand, massaging it for a second before grabbing a new diaper and repositioning the 5-pound sack of flour, his breath hitching at the dusty white cloud that puffed up when he laid it on the counter. _Internal bleeding? Er… powdering?_

 _Focus._ He shrugged off the nerves and forced himself to "change the baby" one more time, holding the flour packet up with one hand while he arranged the nappie with the other. This would be much easier if the thing had legs. 3 minutes, 15 seconds.

"We'll get there, Milly," he muttered to the square, squat bag. "Mum's countin' on us."

-o-

"So Koenig's your baby doc." Mack snapped the ends off a green bean and threw it in the colander. "That's gotta be weird."

Fitz screwed up his face and shrugged. "They fly him in, so we don't see him much." He was just glad SHIELD had _found_ them a doctor, considering that Jemma was still the closest thing they had to an MD at the Playground.

"I don't know, man. Every day, there's another brother." Trip looked vaguely unsettled from where he was toasting sesame seeds on the stove. "Can't even tell 'em apart." He shivered.

"Except the rest of them all manage secret bases… reckon this one's the black sheep of the family?" Fitz laughed uncertainly, hovering over the pile of carrot sticks he was chopping. For all he knew, SHIELD had created Remy Koenig, OB-GYN, specifically for their purposes. _Best not to dwell on it._

Mack chuckled and moved to the sink to rinse off the green beans. "I'm just glad I don't have a uterus." He shook his head and toweled his hands dry. "Nothing against Billy but, that's not a face I wanna see poppin' up from between-"

"Yes, thank you for those new nightmares, Mack. If you'll excuse me." Fitz pushed himself away from the table and headed towards the bunks. _What if they share some kind of memory chip?_ Truth be told, without his white coat Dr. Koenig looked exactly like Billy or Sam or any other Koenig out there. _Fantastic._ Now every time he ran into one in the halls, he'd be thinking, 'Don't mind me, just wondering, are you the one who's had his hands in my wife's vagina?'

-o-

His eyes grogged open and he blinked at the digital clock. 2:03 a.m. "Jemma? What're you doing?"

"Cataloguing my dreams." She tapped away at her tablet. "They're particularly vivid at the moment." She raised her eyebrows. "It's actually a bit thrilling."

"Oh?" He fumbled his way through sitting up. "Like what?"

"Well." Jemma's nose wrinkled in hesitation. "Many of them are about the pod." Seeing his face pale, she rushed to add, "Not like before! They're nightmares, yes, but centered around the baby: sometimes I go into labor at the bottom of the ocean, or we see her swimming around outside the window, or he's back at the base and no one's with him. It's perfectly normal, as I understand." She turned her tablet so he could see the spreadsheet she'd put together. "I'm recording the type of dream, how far along I am, and whether or not it relates to my waking up to use the loo."

He rubbed a sympathetic track along her arm. "Little monkey's still usin' your bladder as a mattress?" He saw an acronym on her screen he didn't recognize, cropping up over and over across her charts. "What's that mean?" he pointed.

"Ah…" She colored slightly, bringing a hand up to brush the side of her collar. "Those dreams are more... about how the baby got here."

"Oh, _really_?" He stretched his torso to nip lightly at the ticklish spot on her neck. _Randy little minx._ "Get any good ideas?"

She squirmed away, but set the tablet on the nightstand and turned to face him with a playful glint in her eye. "Perhaps… and we _are_ both awake…"

As he skated a hand up her thigh and kissed the place behind her ear that always made her gasp, Fitz thought smugly that he was pretty good at making Jemma's dreams come true.

-o-

" _Barbara's_ a nice name. Right, Hunter?"

Jemma's head popped up, amused, as she sipped her water and crunched a bite of her apple. Fitz was pretty sure one of her great-grandmothers had been named Barbara. "Thanks, Bobbi. We'll keep it in mind."

"This kid's gonna be some kind of super-nerd, right?" Skye grabbed a handful of popcorn. "You should just get ahead of it and name him Einstein."

"Really, Skye, if we were going to name the baby after a scientist-"

"We'd be here all day." It was a discussion they'd had for hours not a week before, and one Fitz didn't especially want to repeat in front of the entire team. It was nobody's business but theirs, anyway. _You want to be in charge of baby names? Make one._

He smiled reassuringly and patted Jemma's hand. "Besides, we've got the perfect name picked out, haven't we?"

"We have?" Jemma eyed him like a mistrustful squirrel.

"Of course. It works for a girl or a boy." Fitz puffed out his chest, enjoying the attention. "Which is why the first name's definitely going to be… Agent."

A chorus of groans went up around the room. From behind the couch, however, Director Coulson nodded his approval.

-o-

"You're being careful."

"Of _course_ I am." On the videoconference screen, she rolled her eyes. "I'm pregnant, not incompetent. And as ridiculous as it is to treat me like some kind of Fabergé egg, the fact that I'm on a fact-finding mission and not a combat op should _at least_ keep you from worrying about me!"

 _Change the subject._ "Well, how're you feeling? Morning sickness still bad?" He wasn't sure why they called it that, when from what he'd seen, it happened at all hours of the day or night.

"I'm _fine_." She blew out her cheeks and smoothed back a stray lock of hair that had escaped her ponytail. "Now do you want to talk about the readings the DWARFs picked up? Or have you joined the rest of the team in acting as though despite my advanced knowledge of the human body, I have no idea how to keep myself and our child safe?"

 _Oh, brother._ "I didn't mean-"

"Honestly, Fitz, millions of women are pregnant on any given day, but how many can say they've literally saved the world? It's not as easy as I make it look, you know."

"Erm…" _Was that rhetorical?_ It was probably rhetorical.

"Now if you don't mind," she declared archly, "despite the apparently _insurmountable_ distraction of a fetus in my womb, _I'd_ still like to discuss the rather fulfilling work we do."

Two days later, when Jemma stepped off the quinjet and into his waiting arms, Fitz's fingers skimmed over a barely appreciable swell on her abdomen, just beginning to show under her form-fitting black tactical gear. Fitz gasped, tightened his embrace and wondered if anyone would believe that was just engine wash in his eye.

-o-

Fitz flopped over, roused from sleep by the cool, empty sheets at his side and a distinct lack of snoring. 4:41 a.m. _Not again._

"Jemma?" He didn't hear her in the en suite bathroom. He stuck his head out into the hall, willing his paranoia to let him be. "Jemma?"

He padded on bare feet through the Playground corridors, checking the kitchen, the lab, and the lounge. Finally, as he neared the training gym, Jemma's cries of pain suddenly cut through the air with terrifying accuracy. "Jemma?!"

Fitz raced down the hall and burst into the gym, to find her pacing the floor, doing her Lamaze breathing. "Is it the baby?" _Oh, God. It's too soon._ Fitz's breath started coming fast and short. "What's- what's- are you…" His heart was a malfunctioning rocket, stuttering in his chest.

"Oh, hi Fitz!" Jemma looked up and beamed widely before jotting something down in the notebook at her side and moving to sit on the Pilates ball. "Good, I could use your help." She grabbed the stopwatch around her neck with one hand and reached into an ice bucket with the other.

"What- you're not- you're okay?" Fitz staggered over to her, eyes flitting over the notebook. _Vocalization - Breathing - Focal Point - Counterpressure._ "What is all this?"

She gritted her teeth, hand still stuck firmly in the ice bucket. "Pain management techniques. It's never too early, right?" She hit a button on the stopwatch, pulled her hand free of its frosty prison, and scrawled another note on the page before turning to him with a sunny smile. "Bobbi says it works for torture, too!"

-o-

"Awwww!" Skye squealed and jotted down the gift on her clipboard, as Jemma unwrapped yet another gender-neutral monkey pajama set. Fitz, for his part, was delighted that the team had run with his zoo theme.

"Okay, so this one's from all us girls…" Skye said, hefting a huge wrapped gift and passing it over. Fitz nearly swallowed his tongue when he saw the gargantuan curling body pillow that was most assuredly going to displace him from his own bed.

"What on Earth is that?"

"Oh, Fitz!" Jemma ran excited hands over her new nighttime partner. "It's like a nest. It supports my belly, keeps my spine straight, prevents me from rolling onto my back…"

"I could do that," he grumbled. _I should be the big spoon._ That was his job. Not some linguini-esque stuffed purple abomination.

"... help me sit up comfortably once the pregnancy insomnia kicks in… Oh! It also becomes a nursing pillow!" Jemma hugged the leviathan to herself. "It's perfect!"

He gaped. "But it's huge!" The thing was bigger than Mack.

"Fitz?" Bobbi smiled dangerously. "I _know_ you're not trying to tell Jemma she's taking up too much room in the bed by sleeping the way she _needs_ to, right?"

"What? No, I just-"

"Here, mate. You're just diggin' yourself a hole." Hunter handed him a plastic grocery store bag tied off at the top. "Open mine."

Fitz pried open the bag and slowly unrolled a small bundle of cloth. "A onesie, thanks." Once he'd unfolded the sides, Jemma's nose wrinkled.

" _Up all night, drink 'til I puke._ "

"What?" Hunter looked around the room, the picture of unrepentance. "I made that myself." He spread his hands with a flourish. "I'm an artist."

-o-

"Rub my back?"

He could never resist that sweet berry pout with those big bronze eyes. Unfortunately, it was rather difficult to give Jemma a proper massage, considering she couldn't lay on her stomach. Fitz wasn't about to complain about his difficulties, though, so he bracketed her torso with his knees, trying to maneuver his hands to her lower back, where she'd mentioned it was worst.

Which was, unfortunately, how Jemma ended up farting _directly_ in his lap. The smell hit him a second after the vibration, a pungent petting zoo bouquet that set one hand waving in front of his nose. "Christ, Jemma!"

She was still facing forward, but he saw the back of her neck turn red even as she started to laugh.

"That wasn't me!" she choked out. "That was the baby!"

Fitz kept his hands working at the backrub but turned his head as far as he could in a desperate bid for fresh air. "Gassy little windbag _she's_ shapin' up to be."

"Takes after her father?"

"Hmmph." He couldn't very well hold it against her, Jemma'd already explained - in unnecessary detail - how her changing body chemistry would lead to a host of unladylike side effects. He wasn't sure how _anyone_ survived nine months of this, though.

"Do your calves still hurt, as well?"

"Mmm… but you mustn't rub my legs or feet, remember, the risk of-"

"Blood clots, yeah, I know. Sorry." Fitz kissed the top of her head in commiseration.

"And don't touch my-"

"Your boobs, yep."

"I mean it," she warned. "They _hurt_."

"Sorry." This time, Fitz's pity was all for himself.

-o-

Fitz lay across the grass, his head resting on Jemma's legs while she balanced her laptop over the curve of her belly. While she tapped away at the keyboard - she still insisted on doing any and all non-hazardous work she could, the stubborn duck - he tinkered with the baby monitor he'd been upgrading. After all, what was the point of working for SHIELD if he couldn't outfit his nursery with the highest standard of surveillance equipment? His arm rested against Jemma's baby bump as he worked, letting him feel the flutters and kicks coming from within. Fitz fiddled with his tools, narrating his actions through Jemma's soft maternity T-shirt and drum-tight skin.

"And then I'm gonna recalibrate the heat signature sensor so we'll know if you're cold-"

"Or running a fever," Jemma cut in.

Fitz nodded, though she couldn't see him. "Mummy says newborns shouldn't sleep with blankets, so checking your temperature is very important. And nobody likes a thermometer up the bum."

"Oh, Fitz," she sighed, just as Fitz caught a particularly strong kick near his bicep.

"Hah! See? He doesn't want a probe any more than I do. Not even born and already a genius."

"Most likely." Jemma scratched her nails through his curls. "But I think she's kicking because she likes listening to you."

He was fairly sure his heart grew three sizes. _Likes listenin' to me. What a thing that is._ A moment later, Jemma's hand stilled in his hair.

"Damn."

"What? What's the matter?"

"My fingers locked up again," she huffed. "I'll be well pleased when my wrists aren't so swollen as to cause carpal tunnel."

Fitz patted Jemma's navel in a silent _talk to you later_ and sat up. "Well, until then…" He took her hand and gently smoothed out her fingers so they straightened. "I'm always happy to hold your hand."

-o-

"Ugh, Fitz, you're so sweaty."

He was jostled awake by a cranky, perspiration-soaked, very round Simmons - _and soulmate, and love of my life, whom I'm very lucky to be with_ \- elbowing him in the chest. He carefully untangled himself from where he'd been doing his best to cuddle her in spite of their new sleeping accoutrements.

"What the Hell, Jemma? It's half three in the morning."

"It's too damned hot! I can't sleep and I'm all stuffed up and none of my shoes fit and if I never lay on my left side again it'll be too soon and I'm _hot_ , Fitz!"

The temperature was not only perfectly reasonable, but the same as it always had been in the climate-controlled base. But his mum had raised a gentleman, and he could tell that she'd been miserable for longer than he'd been awake, so Fitz dutifully gave her as much room as he could in their narrow bed, only dropping a tired kiss to her cheek before moving away. "I've always known you were hot. Now get some sleep, love."

-o-

Fitz didn't mind making love to his pregnant wife, even with the farting and the extra body hair and the instructions not to touch her breasts. She'd always been beautiful to him, and now that she was bearing his child, he was more in love with her than ever before. He just didn't appreciate the _completely_ inconvenient timing.

"Jem, we're on a deadline! Coulson's orders!" Fitz squeaked out, as she used her considerable weight to grind against him. _And in the lab of all places!_

"That's true… but, if I could offer a competing perspective-" She turned and grabbed his tie, bringing his mouth crashing down to hers, the sweet mint of her tongue lighting him on fire. "We haven't had sex in two weeks, and I've a cocktail of every hormone possible running a marathon through my body." She ran her hands down his back and into his trouser pockets. "Shouldn't we at least take advantage?"

These were the sort of pregnancy cravings he could get behind. Fitz pulled her ponytail holder out and threaded his fingers through her hair, tugging her through the lab doors and toward the bunks. When it came to Jemma's libido, he'd be a fool not to follow his doctor's orders.

-o-

He was really going to miss this "no condoms" thing. _Other_ aspects of pregnant lovemaking, however…

"Ouch!" Jemma's brow twisted in pain. "His foot's stuck in my ribs. Just give me one second-"

Fitz moved away as Jemma rolled side to side, like a hamster in a sand bath, trying to dislodge their little parasite. _Er, unborn treasure._

"Do you want to try it on your hands and knees?" he offered.

"No… it doesn't really help with the pressure, and all that movement gives me awful heartburn."

"Oh, right. Sorry." She'd told him that. Along with some truly disconcerting facts about the likelihood of hemorrhoids. _Now, there's a visual._ Fitz was suddenly relieved she'd shut down his doggy style suggestion.

"On your side, then? I could-"

"No, I can lay on my back for short periods, just as long as- ooh, kicking!" She grimaced.

Looked down at his wife's belly, he was hit with a wave of déjà vu, back to that night at the Academy when they first watched _Alien_.

"What the Hell _is_ that?"

There was a… _shape_ , straining against the skin of Jemma's abdomen. Even knowing what it _must_ be, it took Fitz a moment.

"Christ, it's a foot. A _foot_ , Jemma!"

"Yes, Fitz." Her lip quirked, amused. "Humans do have them."

"Right, but- mother of all things. I can see the toes!"

She pushed herself into sitting up and hooked her hand around the back of his head, forcing him to meet her eyes. "Look, I'm as impressed by our baby as anyone." She pulled him in for a kiss, scraping her teeth against his bottom lip and zinging his arousal straight back up.

"But honestly," she shrugged, all teasing nonchalance and mischievous brows, "if you're going to let a little thing like the miracle of human life distract you from what we were doing, we might as well go back to the lab. We _are_ on a deadline, after all."

Fitz narrowed his eyes at her. _Challenge accepted._ He nudged her onto her side and settled himself flush behind her, sucking an earlobe into his mouth. "You should know by now, Jemma," he rumbled, letting the words wash over her skin. "I always get the job done."

-o-

The bigger Jemma got, the less the Playground seemed to understand that her belly was attached to her, and not everyone's personal good luck charm. When she had to physically duck behind him to escape one of the recent recruits' enthusiastic well-wishes, Fitz decided he'd had enough.

"All right, that's it." He hopped up on a chair in the kitchen, tapping his spoon against the side of his mug to get his fellow agents' attention. "Everyone? Everyone, I've just got a quick announcement. From now on, unless my wife has expressly invited you to put your hands on her body, _you do not touch her_. Got that?"

The room was silent for approximately three seconds before Hunter piped up, "How d' you expect us to manage that, then?" Hunter nodded to the others. "I'm not being funny, but she's a bit hard to step around these days."

Skye threw a banana at his head.

-o-

Fitz found her crying in the shower.

"Jemma, sweetheart, what's wrong? Did you watch that scene from Dumbo again?" To be fair, he had cried even more. Shutting off the spray, he stepped in and wrapped her up in his arms, being careful not to put too much pressure on her belly or chest.

"It's just so strange, Fitz. In less than a month we'll have this new _person_ in our lives, and I- and everyone's been so sweet, but it's as if- it seems like-"

"What?" His voice was soft, only carrying over the trickle of water still dripping from the showerhead.

She sniffed heavily against his shirt and huffed out a shaking sigh. "They're always asking about the baby."

He kept his question gentle. "Is that a bad thing?"

"I know they mean well." Her voice was getting stronger, even tinged with anxiety. "But I worry that from now on my identity is going to be all tied up in the fact that I've had a child, never mind my _numerous_ other accomplishments."

 _That's absurd._ For one thing, Jemma'd been famous long before her uterus took center stage. Before he could tell her as much, she'd continued, sucking in a deep breath. "Even baby showers reinforce this idea that we're nothing more than glorified _incubators_ \- oh, they pretend it's a party in honor of the mum, but every gift is for the baby, and the mother gets vilified for drinking a cup of coffee." She laughed flatly. "God, I miss coffee. And beer. And sleeping on my back. And sugar. At this point it would almost be worth risking gestational diabetes, just to have _one_ thing back."

Fitz didn't know what to say, and he was no Andrew Garner, so instead he lowered them both to sit. "Shh, love… it's okay." He turned her so she could lay back against his chest. "I can't speak for everyone…" he breathed into her shoulder, "but I think, at least, the team would agree with me. We loved you first, Jem. The reason everyone keeps fussing over how amazing this baby's going to be is because _you're_ amazing."

She craned her neck back to give him a watery smile. "I'm just being silly, I know. It's been an emotional ride." She tipped her head and laid her cheek across his shoulder.

He pressed a kiss to her temple before grinning down at her. "Pfffft. You're not silly, you're brilliant. And you make me brilliant. And our daughter's gonna be brilliant."

Jemma jerked to face him. "Daughter?"

 _Oh, shit._ "I mean, erm, the little peanut? Our wee jelly bean?" She wasn't buying it. "Arrgh, you wanted to be surprised, and I've cocked it all up. Crap. I'm sorry." _And we work for an organization that specializes in secrets. For shame._

"No, it's fine, it's…" she swiped at the tears still on her eyelashes. "A girl, Fitz! We should name her Margaret."

He nodded. "And call her Peggy, after Peggy Carter."

"What?" She started, confused. "No, Molly! After Molly Weasley! No one names anything after the Weasleys and they _should_ , they were the best family."

"Well, we don't have to decide now." He watched Jemma's smile bloom, thinking how lucky he was that Jemma wasn't upset with him for ruining the surprise. Actually, if he stopped to think, he was lucky in far more ways that that. "Though, ah, the thing is…"

Jemma read the hesitation in his voice and met his gaze. "Yes?"

"Well… I may've promised- okay, not _promised_ \- at worst I implied-"

" _Fitz._ "

Fitz squinched his face into a cajoling grimace. "How d'you feel about the name _Lorna_?"

-o-

"Jemma! You've got to put on a shirt!"

"I can't," she responded simply, using a finger to bookmark her novel and turning towards him while Fitz hurriedly closed the door to their bunk behind him.

"What do you mean you can't? What if it'd been Coulson or May that came callin'?"

"I _mean_ , person who is not currently gestating another human being, my nipples are enormous and they _hurt_. I don't want to put anything against them unless I absolutely have to. And Coulson ordered me on bedrest anyway, so I hardly think he'll be barging in here looking for a free show." With that, she resumed reading, leaning back onto a small nest of pillows.

 _Nipples_. Fitz had never been the best at self-control on a good day, so his sexy wife drawing attention to her breasts and then reclining like a bloody painting didn't exactly do much to keep him from staring. Although…

"What the Dickens is that?"

"What?" Jemma tipped her chin down to try and get a better look. _It can't be milk, baby's not even here yet. And milk isn't that color. Oh, bollocks. Something's gone wrong - I knew it would, and now it has. Bleedin' Hell. I should've learned kung fu._

"It's like _egg yolk_ , comin'-" He pointed. "Comin' _out_ of you! What-" Fitz began to pace, hands flapping frantically as his heart jumped into his throat and he waited for a plausible explanation.

"Fitz, calm down," she laughed. "It's just colostrum."

"So you're tellin' me…" he pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand, the other going to rest on his hip, "that's supposed to be there?"

"I'm positive. There's nothing wrong. Though, I do need the loo." She reached out, fingers grasping for assistance, looking for all the world like a flipped turtle.

"For the love of- just let me-" Fitz braced his arms under her back as best he could, lifting her onto her feet and making sure she was settled. Jemma stretched her arms above her, and arched her back, placing both palms at the back of her waist. Fitz unconsciously mimicked her stance before catching sight of the pair of them in the wall mirror. "Oh, _God_."

"What is it this time?"

"Jemma, be honest with me." He leveled her with a deathly serious stare. "Is this some sort of subconscious sympathetic thing, or have I always looked like a pregnant woman when I stand?"

Jemma's flush immediately gave her away, not to mention the chuckle she tried to hide behind her hand.

"Bloody Hell! Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"I'm sorry, Fitz, it's just… I never really saw the similarity, but-" she dissolved into a fit of laughter, and a second later, a dark stain was running down her leggings.

"Oh, sweet Jesus. Jemm- look. Jemma. Is that- did your water break? How do you feel? Do you need to go to the infirmary? Where's your shirt?"

She looked down at her legs, and despite the fact that this was all very serious business, her chuckles turned into guffaws. "It's not that- it's just- Fitz-" she wheezed, though Fitz couldn't see the joke, "I've only _wet_ myself!"

"Is that… normal?"

She nodded, breaths still short from laughing, and sat back down on the bed - Fitz wisely kept his comments about the duvet to himself - as tears of hilarity trickled past the corners of her eyes. "God. Two PhDs by seventeen, and now I'm sitting in my own wee with egg yolk coming out of my breast." With that, Jemma dropped her face into her hands, letting out a sigh. "I'm a mess."

Fitz sat carefully next to her, brushing her hair back behind her ears and rubbing the back of her neck. "You're not."

She snorted in disagreement.

"All right, fine, but you remember my dorm at the Academy, yeah?" He kissed the top of her shoulder. "Messes don't bother me."

-o-

When Jemma actually _did_ go into labor, they were in the middle of playing Charades with a few members from the team. One minute she was holding up the sign for 'three words', the next, she doubled over, pain written on her face.

"Hurt? The Hurt Locker?" Skye shouted. "Did I get it?"

Jemma moaned in response, cradling her stomach with both arms.

"Oi! You can't make sounds! That means we get the point." Hunter jumped up, moving to change the score on the whiteboard, even as Fitz ran over to check on her. Skye followed in quick pursuit, peppering her with questions.

"Simmons? Is everything okay? Are you having contractions?"

Jemma gritted her teeth, pushing air out her nose. "I think they're probably just the practice ones again, but they've never been this bad. 'Painless', my eye."

"Those Toni Braxton contractions?"

"Braxton-Hicks, Skye, but yes."

"Uhh… I don't know, Jemma," Trip called out, from where he was looking at his watch. "I think you might need to head over to the infirmary. Get Dr. K to check you out."

"No, no! We should keep playing, there's no reaso- oooh!" She bent over again, holding tight to Fitz's arm and nodding her assent. "Perhaps I should."

Fitz was glad to have Skye and Trip's help, chivvying Jemma along the base's corridors until they reached the medical wing. Particularly considering he was feeling a bit lightheaded. And because, at a certain point, they had to pause when Jemma's newly loose hip slipped out of joint and she either had to walk in incredible pain or shift her weight on her feet until it popped back into its place. _All perfectly normal, she says. Yeah, and I'm the drummer for a punk band._

"Fitz, can we _please_ go back to the bunks? I need a few things." The note of desperation in Jemma's voice gave him pause.

"I'll get you anything you need." He tried to pour all of the confidence he didn't feel into his tone, to calm her and keep her spirits light. "You just have the baby; I'll take care of everything else."

"No, you don't _understand_." Her voice had lowered pointedly. "It's… a delicate subject." She was so stubborn, dragging her feet, and Fitz wrapped his arms more sturdily around her as their impromptu caravan came to a halt, just a couple of doors away from the med wing.

"Sorry, erm-" He turned to Trip and Skye. "Can you give us a minute? I need to talk to Jemma." He waited until they'd moved out of earshot before easing Jemma to sit on a supply crate someone had left in the hall. He knelt in front of her, rubbing her knees in what he hoped was a reassuring way. "What is it?"

She glanced behind her towards their teammates and muttered, "I need…" followed by something unintelligible.

"Jemma? Sweetheart?" He nudged her leg.

Her cheeks had gone red in irritation, and, he guessed, embarrassment. "I need a moment alone… so I can give myself an enema."

Fitz shook his head mutely. He must have heard wrong. "Come again?"

"I don't want to…" She drew in a vexed breath. "This is supposed to be a moment of joy, new life and all that, and the _last_ thing I want is to…"

He stared, still not getting it.

"I don't want to _defecate_ during the birth, Fitz!" Her brow furrowed in angry insistence. "It _happens_. It happens a _lot_."

Fitz had the sudden and, he was fairly certain, inappropriate urge to laugh. _Shit happens. Shit happens a lot._ "Jemma, it'll be fine." ( _Shit'll be fine.)_ He cursed himself and locked his eyes on hers.

"You _know_ I like to be prepared," she pleaded. "I've got an enema kit in my underwear drawer, will you get it for me? And my leg-waxing strips?" At his silence, she clutched at his bicep, riding out another contraction, and eventually sucked in some air. " _Please_."

Fitz bit down on the inside of his cheek when he caught sight of Skye down the hall, tugging Dr. Koenig towards them by the arm. "This isn't a beach in Brazil," he soothed. "You're havin' a _baby_. Nobody cares if you haven't, er…" he coughed, drumming his fingers along her thigh, "trimmed the hedges lately."

"Tell that to the patriarchy!" she hissed. "Besides, _I_ care." She blew out a huff. "I'd like to see _you_ groom your pubic area when you can't bend your middle or see past your stomach."

With a groan, she tried to lift herself off the crate, and stopped, clutching at her belly. Fitz caught her, rubbing her back and trying not to freak _completely_ out while he waved the others over.

"Doc! Little help here?" Trip called, jogging up to them and helping Jemma straighten up for the short walk to the med center entrance.

"Honestly, I'm fine, first time labor takes _hours_ , I really should- aahhh!"

-o-

"So…" Dr. Remy Koenig looked up from his clipboard once they'd gotten Jemma gowned and settled up on the exam table. "Pretty sweet, huh? How _psyched_ are you right now?"

Fitz and Jemma looked up simultaneously. "Very!" she chirped politely, just as he confessed, "Bit of the collywobbles." _Oh, right. He probably meant Jemma._

Koenig tucked his lanyard under his doctor's coat. "You guys're gonna be fine. I'll be right here the whole time. And if I'm not, someone who looks exactly like me shouldn't be too hard to find!" He chuckled. " _Kidding._ Just think of me as your guide through the miracle of birth." He walked around to stand at Jemma's side. "Your OB-Wan-Koenig-obi."

Jemma let out a whimper that Fitz chose to attribute to her physical state rather than Dr. Koenig's sense of humor. He wasn't sure what to do for her, beyond holding her hand and petting her hair, and neither of those seemed sufficient. From the way she was gripping his fingers, though, he thought it might at least be comforting her.

"Okay, Agent Simmons, from the timing of your contractions, I'd say you've been in labor for a few hours now. I'm going to need you to lie back while I check the baby's position and your dilation."

 _A few hours?!_ How had they missed that? Her water hadn't even broken, unless he was truly oblivious. Had those first contractions been so mild she hadn't noticed? Or had she been in pain all this time and not said? Jemma'd always been the sort to mask her own pain for what she saw as the good of others. He didn't have the heart to chide her for it, though, when he caught her agonized hiss as Dr. Koenig's hand went fully up inside his wife. Her face was tight, jaw tense as if she were focused on keeping any sound of pain firmly on lockdown, while Dr. Koenig hummed "We Are Family" under his breath.

"Is this really necessary?" Fitz was doing his best to mask the knife edge in his voice. It probably didn't go too well. And really, did he have to be so invasive? There was an ultrasound machine _right there_.

"Sweet." Dr. Koenig pulled his fingers out of Jemma's lady bits and wiped them on a paper napkin. "Everything feels good, baby's flipped, and we're good to go! Agent Simmons, we're going to set you up with a few monitors and get you into a bed. How's that sound?"

It was here. It was happening. Soon, their daughter would come squalling into the night, full of hope and promise and crushing obligation.

"I'm not ready." His voice was too high.

"Fitz?" Her thumb rubbed circles against his palm. "I'm sure we can wait a moment before moving; do you need to sit down?"

"No, Jemma, I'm not ready. _We're_ not ready. I read all the, ah, the…" He grunted in frustration. _Damn it._ "The _research_ you gave me, and I still have no idea what I'm gonna do! What happens if, if we can't…" He snapped his fingers, reaching out in panic, his words high and jagged and picking up speed. " _Swaddle_ her, and she flips onto her stomach while we're sleepin'? What if somethin' shakes her and her brains get all sloshed about? What if she gets stuck on the way out and she can't breathe?" Breathing wasn't the easiest thing in the world, as Fitz was keenly aware of at the moment. "What if _Hunter_ drops her?"

"Calm down, Agent Fitz." Dr. Koenig leveled him with a flat look. "Go for a walk, get some air."

 _The Hell I will._ "We're underground!"

Skye grabbed him gently by the arm and tried to direct him towards the hall. "What was it Jemma needed from her bunk? Breast pump? Cooch icepack? Diaper tracker?"

He wriggled out of her grasp, turning back to his wife, who was wearing a patient smile.

"Go on, Fitz, I'll be fine."

 _God, Jemma_. Jemma with her inner strength and her kind eyes. He should be focused on _her_ , _there_ for her, not falling apart and forgetting his words. Fitz sighed. Perhaps he could use a few minutes to compose himself. "Do you- er, that is, can I get you anything?"

"Some tea would be lovely."

 _Okay. Tea._ He nodded furiously. _The mother of my child needs tea_. He turned to head out with a renewed sense of purpose. Behind him, he saw Dr. Koenig pull Trip aside, speaking softly, and out of the corner of his eye, he caught the specialist grabbing a pair of scrubs and pulling on some gloves. _Wait_. Trip? Trip was going to assist in his wife's delivery?! _But that means he'll have to put his hands on Jemma's-_

Fitz cracked his head into the doorframe.

-o-

A brief walk later, Fitz sat on a bench in the kitchen with Skye, holding a cold compress to his head.

"What's the story, mate? Your wife pop the little one out yet?"

Skye shot him a censorious look. "C'mon, Hunter. It was nowhere close just a few minutes ago."

"Well I don't know, obviously, do I? Bobbi's not exactly the mothering type." From across the kitchen, Bobbi stopped munching her apple long enough to flip him off.

"This is what I mean, Bob!" he called to her. "You see what I have to put up with, yeah?"

"Can everyone just- I've got t'-" Fitz felt around his forehead, testing the lump. _I've faced worse._ "Tea!" He jumped up from his seat towards the kettle, swaying as a wave of dizziness crashed into the back of his eyes.

"Whoa, whoa, Steve McQueen." Hunter propped him up, keeping hold of him until he'd gained his balance. "Don't lose your head. Or further injure it."

Within minutes, Fitz was shuffling towards the medical wing, balancing his cup and Jemma's and feeling his stomach churn with anticipation and nerves. When he got back, Jemma was resting on the bed while Trip poured a pitcher of water and ice chips to set next to her.

"Hey, Jem," he greeted her sheepishly, sitting by the bed and taking her hand in his again. "How's everythin'?"

"Wonderful! Trip's been taking good care of me."

Fitz couldn't avoid the charred brick that began to smolder in his stomach. It had been some years since he'd felt insecure around Triplett, but simply knowing that the tall, handsome agent had been looking after Jemma while he himself was a mess of nerves made Fitz grit his teeth in indignation.

 _Stop it._ He was acting like a child. He was _married_ to Jemma, for God's sake. He had nothing to worry about, he knew that, so Fitz forced down his resentment at the other man's various skills while he focused on keeping Jemma distracted from her contractions.

It helped to see her beautiful smile, pointing straight at him as she made small talk about which baby-wearing sling was most ergonomic. (She had, of course, bought three different kinds because "all babies are different, Fitz!") Jemma seemed totally unconcerned with the fact that sooner, rather than later, she'd be squeezing a watermelon through a lemon-sized opening. But, he supposed, she'd always been good at making the seemingly impossible look easy.

-o-

"All right, Jemma, you're gonna push now. Are you ready?"

"I've been ready for _ages_. Let's get this child out of me!"

"C'mon, girl, you got this."

Fitz had nearly forgotten about Trip assisting, but there he was, in all his perfect-bearded glory, staring down at Jemma's lady garden like he wanted to weed it. _The very brass._ Well, Fitz wouldn't stand for this nonsense - Trip could get his own wife and stare at _her_ nethers, but not Jemma's, thank you very much. Dropping her hand - her grip had become quite a bit too tight for comfort - he rounded the privacy shield and tried to compose his sense of outrage into a coherent form.

"Okay, big push, Jemma!" Dr. Koenig glanced at Fitz, noting that he'd stepped closer to Jemma's feet and waving him over. "Dad, want to watch?"

In retrospect, Fitz should have known that his natural squeamishness would make peeking at such a thing a terrible idea. But when, in the midst of Jemma's banshee scream, he risked a look down, he saw such a horrifying combination of skin, blood, and hair, that the next thing he knew, the world had gone dark.

-o-

"Fitz… Fitz, wake up…" Jemma's birdsong voice roused him to consciousness.

"Ugghhh…" he groaned, noting that at least they'd left him in the infirmary, laid back in a small loveseat they must have pilfered from one of the common areas. "Did I hit my head again?"

"No, darling. Trip caught you before you fell! It was very impressive."

 _Oh, goody. I was hopin' I'd get another chance to look useless next to Trip._ But his sour mood fell away when he saw the blanket-wrapped bundle in Jemma's arms. "Is that-" His breath caught and stole the words away.

Someone snorted close behind him. "Nah, mate, that's some other baby your wife's holding." Hunter clapped him on the shoulder and handed Fitz a beer. "At least we know your swimmers work, eh?"

Fitz didn't even register the Englishman's sarcasm as he stood, inching closer to Jemma's bed, angling himself around until, finally, he caught sight of his baby girl's face. Blinky blue eyes peered in his direction - Jemma'd told him that newborns couldn't focus more than a foot or so in front of their faces - and a patch of downy brown hair peeked out from under her fuzzy monkey-printed cap. She was unlike anything he'd ever seen, her movements wholly alien, owlish in her wide-eyed curiosity, and the smallest person he'd seen in his entire life.

Then, just as the moment completely overwhelmed him, Fitz's gaze landed on Jemma's face, shining with new confidence and old joy. Choking off his tears, he leaned forward, brushing a finger over his daughter's impossibly small cheek before settling his palm on his wife's shoulder and squeezing lightly.

"Hi, Dad," Jemma smiled up at him. "Meet your son."

-The End-

* * *

-Epilogue-

"Well, _technically_ that was my first delivery, so minus a couple SNAFUs, I think we _nailed_ it." Dr. Koenig's amiable grin was entirely at odds with Fitz's confused displeasure towards the man. More so when he held up a clammy-looking palm for a high five.

"You told me we were havin' a girl! Did you _ever_ know what you were doing?"

From the bed at his side, Jemma's soft voice reined him in. "Shhh…" She curled her hand around their baby boy's sleepy head. "Honestly, Fitz, it's fine. I understand you must feel blindsided, but it's actually not so uncommon a mistake, especially when babies' legs stay together on the ultrasound."

" _Thank_ you, Agent Simmons." The doctor clapped his hands once, then rubbed them together before gesturing to his brother standing outside the glass doors. "Now. Let's get this kid a lanyard!"

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

Okay so I really am not sure what was happening with this one. I wrote the vast majority of it half a year ago and decided last week that since it was almost done, I should really finish it and put it up. Father's Day seemed as good an excuse as any, even if I did miss it as an actual posting date.

First off, thanks to my betas:

This was inspired by and dedicated to badscienceshenanigans on tumblr, who is a mom herself (and a boss-ass writer and a real live scientist - check out her fic on AO3!) and we'd frequently talked about writing a fic that included the more awful parts of being pregnant. So, if nothing else, I think I showed a pretty good range of terribleness. Before I get yelled at, though, I mean, I did like it up until that last couple months, and there are definitely parts I miss - among other things, you really _don't_ have to worry about how flat your belly is!

And as I think I've mentioned in the past :-D, my beta Amanda (amandajbruce) is rad and you should all read her fic! That scene with the dead fish was also inspired by her story Xiphias, inside the AoS fanfiction collection Conversation Hearts.

Next, thanks to jemmaswan on tumblr, who gave me permission to use her headcanon about Fitz blurting out that he's pregnant when they make the announcement.

Also, the bit where Fitz says he's a drummer in a punk band, and Jemma fussing about the patriarchy, those are shout-outs to a rad Punk AU by atomicsupervillainess on AO3, it's called The Guns of Brixton and it's pretty sweet y'all.

Oh! How could I forget! If you want a super-rad, awesomely authentic account of pregnancy and baby times, you have to read MechBull's Reprise and Coda on AO3. What am I saying, I don't have to tell you that. You've all read it already. But if you haven't - y'know. Do.

One last thing - in my fics, Fitz's mom is named Lorna. No other significance!

:-) Thanks for reading!


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